


The Seasons of My Love

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Cancer, Chapter 1:, Chapter 2:, Chapter 3:, Chapter 4:, Character Death, Child Neglect, Dementia, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Pregnancy, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Theme: Seasons, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: It's a story, about two star-crossed lovers. Their love was so strong they were bonded for all eternity. Lifetime after lifetime they were reborn, to find their one true love. Only to lose each other in death again. - Carter Hall, SmallvilleTheir bodies may be mortal, but their love is not. Those who are afflicted by the soul mark know it is a knife that cuts both ways. Is it a curse or a blessing when your world suddenly turns from black and white to a myriad of colours? How do you choose a person with your entire heart when you don't have a choice, when fate has destined you to be together?Lifetime after lifetime, Jon and Sansa are reborn, destined to find each other. Every life throws obstacles in their path and every death pulls them apart again, but the cycle goes on and on.





	1. Dog Days Are Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnowStone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowStone/gifts).



> I'll probably never get around to writing your favourites, so have this one instead :)
> 
> Written for Jonsa Week Day 1 Soulmates and Day 5 Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are wed on the eve of the War for the Dawn. Years later, the dead have been defeated, summer has come and they're rebuilding Winterfell and the Stark family together. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell share a heart-to-heart and intimate moment in the Godswood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song by Florence + the Machine
> 
> It's after midnight here so I can post this, right?

Jon is three.

Robb pulls him along, telling him they have a sister and that they need to go see her. They tiptoe into the room, whispering too loudly in their giddiness.

Robb goes first. "Sisters are dull," he concludes."She's sleeping again."

Father chuckles. "She's but a babe. And she's your sister. It's your duty as brothers to protect her."

Jon clasps his hands over the side of the cradle, pulling himself up so he can have a look. She's tiny, wrapped in cloth like a loaf of bread and she hardly has any hair on her head.

She opens her eyes and suddenly the entire world turns bright. 

Jon cries out, startled, and rubs his eyes.

Lady Stark glares at him and has him sent from the room.

 

 

_I loved a maid as fair as summer_

_with sunlight in her hair._

 

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the Godswood, bathing the forest floor in red and green shades of golden light. Jon's cheeks were hurting. Normally his smiles didn't come easily, but today he couldn't help it. Summer rains had swept away the heat of the last fortnight and while it was still warm, the temperature had become much more bearable.

Sansa lay facing him, propped up on one elbow. She had fixed him with a glare for chuckling when she'd shed her gown earlier. The Lady of Winterfell was lying in the grass, clad in naught but her shift and smallclothes, eating cherries. It was the most improper and the most gorgeous he'd ever seen her.

She bit into another cherry, the juice staining her plump lips, and lowered her hand to caress her slightly swollen belly. His lips stretched into a smile again, the ache now even noticable in his jaws and his breeches growing tighter at the sight before him.

A slight crease appeared on her brow as a shadow clouded her eyes.

"What troubles you, my love?"

She shrugged and offered him a smile. 

He raised an eyebrow in response.

"You'll think me silly, Jon," she began. "But... Aren't you ever overwhelmed by the fear that all of this" - she gestured vaguely, her face now truly pulled into a frown - "is too good to be true? That it's all but a dream and in a moment you'll wake up and still be..."

She let the rest of her question trail off.  _In King's Landing?_ he finished mentally.  _"In Baelish' claws?  Beyond the Wall? Bleeding out in the snow, all alone and betrayed by men I called brothers?_

"Every single day," he admitted, shaking his head. "All my life I wanted to be Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell. And now I am."  _It is too good to be true._ He knew the feeling all too well. He was always looking over his shoulder, expecting the next tragedy to creep up on him, then hurriedly facing forward again in case the next threat were to attack him head-on.

"Is that why you chose me as your wife?" she asked airily.

"You know that's not true. I did it to protect you, to keep you safe while I was off fighting yet another war." He rolled up until he was sitting on his knees and reached out to cup her cheek. "Besides, does it truly matter why I wed you years ago? Can't it be enough that I love you now?"

It was true, Sansa represented everything he'd ever wanted, all he'd never even hoped to have. And he'd always remembered the moment his world had burst into colour. It had brought him great shame once he'd discovered what it meant. He couldn't allow himself to want her, believing she was his sister. By the time he'd taken the black, he'd convinced himself soulmates were but a cruel jape made up by the gods to bring more suffering to the world.

But Sansa had always been able to see the world in colours. He liked to imagine that's why she'd always been so fond of songs. To her, the world had always been a bright and lovely place. Yet it also meant she never would have known he was the reason she had that ability, if he hadn't died and come back. Perhaps that's what had convinced her to propose they wed once the truth had come out. 

Perhaps she was the one who regretted that choice now. He dropped his hand. "I know I'm not the husband you would have chosen."

"I have a history of choosing precisely those things which are wrong for me," she scoffed, but then her face softened. "It's not that I never saw your worth back then, Jon. You just confused me, is all. Isn't it enough that I love you now?"

He smirked at her throwing his own words back at him. After all they had suffered, it should be enough, but that might their crux. Had they forgotten how to be normal and content?

"I can't help but wonder," she muttered, "if none of these tragedies that have befallen our family would have come about, would we be sat here as husband and wife? Did they all have to die so the gods could prove a point and bring us together?"

He flexed his sword hand, trying to pretend the thought hadn't occurred to him before. 'No," he said firmly. "I choose not to believe that."

She offered him a watery smile. "It's time we start thinking about the future, right? Our future," she added, caressing her belly again. "We can't change the past."

 _"It's time to live, Jon Snow,"_ a vaguely familiar voice whispered in the back of his head. "Aye," he said, "a future we should celebrate."

He took the hand that was lifting another cherry to her lips, rubbing his thumb into her palm. As he closed his lips over her thumb and forefinger, he bit into the fruit, slowly sucking the flesh and lapping up the tart juice, all the while holding her gaze. When he released her fingers to spit out the stone, she averted her darkened eyes, cheeks flushed a deep pink. 

He gently pushed her onto her back, leaning over her to capture her lips in a kiss. He moved to kneel in between her legs as he started sucking a bloom onto the pale skin of her neck. He took both of her hands, lacing their fingers together, groaning as he felt her hardened nipples brushing his chest.

He moved down, caressing her sides, and reached for the hem of her shift. "I want to see," he told her.

"There's not much to see yet," she warned him.

She was right, it was barely there. One had to know to see it, but there was no mistaking. His seed had quickened inside her and now their babe was growing there. He leaned down to press his lips to her small bump. "We're going to have a son, Sansa."

"What if it's a girl?" She was biting her lip, worry written all over her face.

He climbed back up her body, planting his forearms on either side of her face, so he could lean down and kiss the tip of her nose. "Then I pray she'll have your eyes and your sweet face."

"What if I have only girls?"

He met her eyes and declared solemnly: "Surely I could not survive six miniature yous."

'Six?" she cried, swatting his shoulder.

He hummed in agreement and started kissing his way down her body again. "Now, if you'll let me proceed, My Lady? You've eaten all the cherries, so I'll have to find a sweet treat elsewhere."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 will be up around 5 pm CET


	2. Harvest Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Born and bred in Oldtown high society, marrying the right man has always been on top of Sansa's list. But by what standard do you choose the right man?
> 
> Years later, her daughter Rhaenys is about to marry Dickon Tarly, making Sansa think back to her own courtship and wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song by Neil Young
> 
> Locket quote from the poem 'Dominique aujourd'hui présente' by Paul Eluard, but I changed toi to vous because it felt more appropriate for the time period I'm trying to imitate in this universe.
> 
> Don't ask me why people speak French in the Reach. In this universe they just do ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sansa is seventeen.

Father will announce the engagement tonight. Everyone who is someone in Oldtown will be present. There will be champagne and fancy hors d'oeuvres and lemon cakes from Masha's, which happens to be the finest bakery in town.

Her gown is made of the finest brocade with embroidered cap sleeves, slit down the middle to reveal a panel of pale silk. Her hair's been done after the latest fashion in King's Landing, as depicted in the fashion plates from  _Moniteur de la Mode._

She checks her reflection one last time in the mirror before turning the corner. Harry will be waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She scans the room to make sure everyone will see her entrance and her eyes fall on a slender, elegant man who's standing alone in a corner.

He can't be older than thirty, but there's a rapier hanging from his hip and unlike all the other gentlemen in the room, who are all in pantaloons or trousers, he's wearing breeches and stockings under his tailcoat. He's the dark and brooding type, his hand clenching and unclenching on his elaborately carved cane, and his cravat is starched and folded, tied in a Gordian knot.

She stops her sister Arya with a hand on her shoulder. "Who's that gentleman standing over there?" she asks, trying to assume a tone of disinterest. 

Arya glances down. "Oh! Him?" she shrugs. "That's Jon Targaryen."

Sansa gasps - _the Targaryens all went into exile after the revolution -_ and as if he's heard her, he looks up, meeting her eyes, and the entire room erupts into a symphony of colour. 

As she descends the staircase, she can feel his gaze sweeping over her in a way which she's sure is entirely improper. She tilts her chin up a little higher, straightening her back as she resists the urge to stare back. When Harry takes her hand, she sees his lips moving, but she can't understand him over the ringing in her ears. She bats her eyelashes and tells him how handsome he looks, even as she glances sideways, finding Jon Targaryen's attention still fixed on her. 

Father's voice is seeping with emotion, but she hardly hears him announce the betrothal between Capitaine Harrold Waynwood Hardyng and Demoiselle Sansa Minisa Stark. Her eyes keep meeting the dark grey ones -the only colour she knows how to name- of the former Prince.

 

 

_I loved a maid as red as autumn_

_with sunset in her hair_

 

Sansa hurried up the stairs, heading for Rhaenys' chambers, footsteps muffled by the heavy red carpet covering the steps. Right when she was about to turn right, Jon rounded the corner and immediately clasped a hand over his eyes.

She halted, startled. "What are you doing?"

"I've been told it's ill luck to see the bride before the ceremony," he muttered.

Her lips curled into a smile. "Oh, you witless man. Let me through, so I can go and help our daughter through her latest episode."

He uncovered his eyes. "My mistake is justifiable, Mademoiselle. You are easily the most radiant young lady I've encountered all day."

"You are mocking me, Monsieur!" she accuses him, narrowing her eyes at his uncharacteristic use of the flattering language she used to desire as a girl. 

He offered her a smirk before taking her hand and brushing his lips over her knuckles. "I would never," he swore and she realized what he was doing. He was trying to distract her with his nonsensical behaviour. 

She smiled at him, her heart overflowing with love for her husband. "Our daughter will be wed today, Jon," she whispered.

He nodded, face pulling into a frown. "I know, Sansa."

***

"But what if Dickon doesn't like my gown, Maman?" Rhaenys wailed, bright blue eyes overflowing with tears. 

Sansa pulled a handkerchief from her reticule, kneeling in front of her.

'Don't cry, mignonne," Jon said, his lip twitching in discomfort. 'You look gorgeous in anything."

Rhae managed to huff in between sobs. "You are the only one who thinks so, Papa!"

Jon ran a hand through his silver-and-black curls, shooting Sansa a panicked look.

She glanced at the comtoise. "The Septon will be arriving soon, chéri. Would you mind going down and greeting him?"

Jon nodded and pressed a kiss to Rhaenys' pinned up black curls before removing himself from the room. 

Sansa sighed, smoothing back an unruly lock of her daughter's hair. "Now listen to me, Rhaenys. You look stunning in your wedding gown. And I'm not simply saying so because I am your mother. Could you imagine me allowing you to wear anything short of dazzling?"

Rhae's lip curled up involuntarily.

"As for Dickon," she continued, "you are exceptionally lucky to have found someone who loves you as much as he does. He's a good man, one of the best, even if your father is reluctant to admit it. It'll take another five years and a grandchild until he can force himself to say it out loud, but...

"Oh well, I'm digressing. You're marrying a man you love today, Rhae. You're far past the point of worrying whether he'll like your gown. Trust me on this." Sansa gently dabbed the tears from her daughter's cheeks now she'd stopped shedding them.

"Oh, Maman! The idea of every single thing that could go wrong keeps plaguing me! What if Lyarra trips over her train? Or what if Brandon challenges Dickon to another duel before the ceremony can even take place?"

Sansa rolled her eyes at the memory of her son trying to defend his sister's honour. "Your brother and sister will be on their best behaviour today. I'm sure Lyarra can manage a gown for one day and Brandon loves you too much to make a spectacle on a day like this."

"I want everything to be perfect!" she sighed. "What was your wedding day like, Maman? How many guests were there? Did you have lemon cakes and an orchestra? What did your gown look like?" 

Sansa smiled at the memory. "Oh I honestly don't remember what dress I was wearing," she confessed. "And I don't think we danced that night."

She clasped the ruby-encrusted locket Jon had given her twenty-three years ago. She needn't open it to see the words written in his own hand inside it.  _C'est à partir de vous que j'ai dit oui au monde._

 _We did have lemon cakes,_ she recalled. _He licked them off my breasts and stomach, before his tongue ventured elsewhere._

She shook her head to disrupt the memory, before it could bring a blush to her cheeks.

Rhaenys was staring at her in disbelief. 

"Your father and I eloped," she clarified. "I was supposed to marry another man and his family didn't take kindly to my sudden request to end the betrothal."

Her daughter's eyes had grown incredibly large with shock. "Maman!" she gasped. "You've never told me about this before." 

 _We didn't wish to give you any ideas._ She smiled at her. "Some other time. Are you ready?"

"I am."

***

The day ran its course without any major disturbances. In the Sept Sansa feared for a moment that Jon wouldn't let go of Rhaenys' hand, but eventually he did and kissed her cheek before unclasping her maiden cloak. She didn't comment on his moist eyes, but simply placed her gloved hand in his burnt one and let him hold it.

Dinner consisted of many courses of delicacies, including the compulsory lemon cakes. Sansa danced all the quadrilles, but left the polkas to the younger guests.

When the first notes of a slow waltz started filling the ballroom, a low voice asked: "May I have this dance, Madame Targaryen?"

She turned around, surprised, and accepted. As they twirled across the floor, she murmured: "I thought you weren't fond of dancing, Monsieur Targaryen?"

He looked into her amused eyes. "Not particularly, no. But I am exceedingly fond of holding you in my arms," he replied slowly.

Sansa let her cheek rest on his shoulder. They'd drifted to the edge of the dancefloor and were merely swaying from side to side. Rhaenys and Dickon were spinning around in the middle of the room, beaming at each other.

"She looks happy," Jon muttered.

"She does," Sansa agreed.

"At least she had a choice."

Sansa froze. "And we didn't?"

"Walk with me?" he asked, a shadow crossing over his face.

They left the room in silence, once outside, Jon draped his coat over her shoulders. They settled on a white marble bench under the cherry tree, the full autumn moon bright in the sky above them. 

She waited for him to continue, giving him time to ponder his words.

"What if she's like us? She's so young... What if she meets her so-called soulmate next week or next year or a decade from now?"

Sansa blinked slowly. "And you believe she should put her life on hold until she does? What if she never meets him? What if she doesn't have one?"

He shook his head. "Of course not."

"Besides, even if she does, there is no guarantee she'll want to pursue him."

"Indeed there is not," he chuckled darkly. "I thought you were but another empty-headed fool, like all the girls gathered at your ostentatious celebration. And yet I couldn't keep my eyes off you."

Sansa still remembered as if it were yesterday. After the initial shock had worn off, she'd been appalled by the idea of the sullen older prince with his antiquated clothes being her soulmate. He was nothing like Harry, who happened to be exactly like the man she'd always dreamed of marrying. What a fool she'd been indeed.

"It took me only a couple of hours to decide I would leave Westeros again, go back to Essos, resume my mercenary life. Yet how could I leave? I'd come back for a reason..."

They'd kept running into each other at numerous occasions throughout town, slowly shedding their prejudices as they got better acquainted. Then one night Harry had tried to take his rights prematurely at a ball at the Hightower mansion. Sansa had struggled and screamed until Jon burst onto the balcony and without thinking she'd run straight into his arms.

He lightly brushed his fingers over her locket before cupping her cheek, caressing her cheekbone with his thumb. "I thank the gods every day that I chose to stay. You brought joy into my life, and the promise of a real future."

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

"Are you happy, Sansa?" he asked softly.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his warm grey ones. "Happier than I could put into words," she stated simply.

He inclined his head to press his lips to her forehead, lingering. She moved into his embrace. "We may not have had a choice," he murmured into her hair. "But I still chose you."

"And I chose you."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

This is sort of what I imagined Rhaenys to look like in her wedding dress:

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crinoline#/media/File:Princess_Dagmar_of_Denmark_with_her_dog.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've had summer and autumn so far, next up is winter, which will be a bit different from the other three chapters...
> 
> Chapters 3 and 4 will be up on Thursday!


	3. Melting in My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A widow at twenty-five and her only experience with marriage being quite a horrendous one, Sansa has no intention of ever getting married again.
> 
> That's until she meets a handsome young soldier in a pub.
> 
> After fifty-five years of marriage, two children, five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, Jon and Sansa are still happy. But then disaster strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Misty' by Kate Bush

Sansa is twenty-five. 

She and her friends have all signed up as army nurses. She wanted to spend her last night before leaving in peace and quiet, but somehow she let Margaery talk her into coming along to a pub. A group of soldiers awaiting deployment are spending their free night here as well and the girls are giggling too loudly as they try to catch the boys' attention.

Because that's what they are: boys, all ranging between the ages of seventeen and nineteen - perhaps one or two can boast to be twenty or twenty-one - and they have no idea what's waiting for them.  _The Knights of Summer,_ her mother would have called them. 

Sansa feels out of place, being not only the oldest of their group, but also a widow. She can't say she regrets her husband's death, she's too relieved to be rid of him. Joffrey was a vulgar bully and at times she can still feel the bruises and cuts that used to litter her skin during their marriage. Between Joffrey and leering Uncle Petyr, she's had her fill of men, so unlike her friends, she's not keen on having an innocent flirt with an army boy.

She takes a sip of her soda, trying to smile at a bawdy joke Margie's cousin Megga just shared and excuses herself. She needs some fresh air and a cigarette. 

It's colder than she thought outside, so she wraps her coat more tightly around her as she tries to light a cig. The flame of her lighter keeps flickering out and suddenly a pair of large hands cup around hers to shield it from the wind. His head's bent down, but she recognises the unruly dark curls. He's one of the soldiers from inside the pub.

"Thank you," she mutters.

He glances up at her with a smirk. "You're welcome, Miss."

Their eyes meet, and even in the dark, she can see colour flooding his face. His lips part in surprise and she instantly drops her cigarette, fleeing back inside.

She tries to ignore him for the rest of the evening, overwhelmed by all the beauty she can suddenly see and what it means.

It's not until later, when Margie is talking to her handsome stranger and lightly brushes her hand over his shoulder, that Sansa can't take it anymore.

She stalks over to them, heels clicking rhythmically, and practically shoves her friend aside.

She's not even sure what she was planning to do, but now that she's close enough to count his eyelashes and study the curve of his lips, she doesn't hesitate.

She cups his jaw, lightly scratching his wispy beard and dives in to kiss him deeply, encouraged by the hoots and delighted shrieks of their respective groups of friends.

 

 

_I loved a maid as white as winter_

_with moonglow in her hair_

 

Sansa sighed as she pulled the brush through her thick, snowy mane.  _They'll find him,_ she kept telling herself.  _He'lll be fine,_ the mantra repeated itself over and over again in her head.

She couldn't allow herself to think otherwise. Oh, how she wished she could be out there looking for him herself, but she would be of no use to them.

 _I shouldn't have sent him out by himself._ Jon made the trip to the grocery store just around the corner and the bakery across the street almost weekly. The doctors said it was good for him to keep doing things independently as long as he could. The worst that had happened so far was that he got angry because the butcher wouldn't sell him any bread.

 _It's all my fault._ She'd given him a list, told him exactly where to buy what, but perhaps she should have waited until she felt better and could have gone along with him, or asked Minisa for help. It's just that she didn't want to impose on her daughter's life more than she already did.

Suddenly the front door swung open and she pushed herself to her feet, bracing her hand on the table to keep herself steady.

"We were out of dog food," she could hear Jon explain to Mina. "Your mother forgot to put it on the list."

They hadn't had a dog in seven years and the store on Torrhen's Square he went looking for had closed nearly two years ago. When he couldn't find it, he'd tried to head home again, but he had forgotten how to get back.

***

The next morning she woke up to Jon opening drawers, a scowl fixed on his face. At first she'd asked him what he was looking for whenever he did that, but she'd learned it often set off his temper.

He glanced up to find her standing in the doorway and beamed at her. She was fond of his smiles, they made him look fifteen years younger and incredibly handsome.

He closed the distance between them quickly - he was still in an excellent physical condition for his age- and cupped her cheeks to kiss her. Suddenly his hands slid down her neck and collarbones and he started to fondle her breasts.

"Jon!" she cried out, swatting his hands away as she pulled back. "We're too old for that nonsense!"

She pushed past him to get to the kitchen. She almost jumped when she suddenly felt his hand groping her arse. "I can't help it, lovely girl," he whispered into her ear. "You drive me insane."

***

She was sitting on the bench under the cherry tree, trying to focus on her knitting, but the doctor's voice kept echoing inside her head.

She'd been able to hear the words, but she couldn't make sense of them.  _Lymph nodes. Metastasis. Early stage 4._

 _"Is it treatable?"_ Minisa had asked. Her stomach churned as she recalled the look of pity on the oncologist's face. He'd murmured excuses like  _"your mother's age"_ and  _"with her medical history."_

 _I'm still sitting right here!_ part of her had wanted to scream, but she'd just felt too numb.

 _"How long?"_ she remembered asking.

_"Difficult to tell, probably six months."_

Dying didn't particularly scare her, being left behind was always worse, but she couldn't leave Jon, not now. 

 _"Should we tell him?"_ Mina had asked after explaining the situation.

The doctor had rubbed his chin and removed his glasses, wiping them as he pondered her question.  _"I believe it's best to consult the physician who's treating your father before making a final decision,"_ he'd stated eventually.  _"But I'd advise against it. He won't remember most of the time, and when he does, it might be too much to handle."_

***

So Sansa tried to cope by herself, keeping her husband in the dark on the fact that she was dying. She willed her body to stay strong, for him. The doctors and her daughter and son had all agreed that she shouldn't tell Jon, but she kept worrying.  _What's going to happen when he wakes up one day and I'm gone?_

She was aware telling him probably wouldn't make any difference, but it still hurt so much to lie to him and to bear this pain alone. She had Arya and Brienne, but neither of them were good at talking, and Sansa would never burden Mina or Ned with her own troubles. She was their mother, for Seven's sake!

Jon had been her rock for over fifty-five years, and though he was still with her, she was on her own now. Some days she felt like the Jon she'd known and loved for so long was already gone. 

Jon would have never shoved her aside in frustration. Jon wouldn't stand in front of their open window stark naked, glaring and shouting at the people who pointed and laughed behind their hands.

***

Brienne and her husband Jaime were visiting. They'd just finished their tea and cakes when Jaime proposed they all play a board game together. Sansa tried to distract him by asking how his brother Tyrion was doing, not wanting to explain that Jon was no longer able to remember the rules to most games.

She couldn't make Jaime change his mind however, especially after sweet oblivious Jon agreed, both men's competitive streak coming out, but she did manage to steer their choice toward a relatively simple card game.

Yet twenty minutes in, Jon suddenly leapt to his feet, roaring: "You're all cheating!" and threw his cards in Jaime's face. 

"Hey, sit down, caveman!" Jaime urged him, as Sansa hid her flushed cheeks behind her own cards.

"You're a fucking cheater, Lannister!" Jon threw back at him, banging his fist on the table.

Sansa thanked all the gods Brienne had the presence of mind to stop Jaime from taking it any further by putting a hand on his arm.

***

Jon was walking around naked again, but at least he wasn't near any streetside windows this time. He grinned at Sansa as she let her eyes trail down his body, desperately wondering how she was going to convince him to put on some clothes.

Suddenly he slapped his own arse. "I have a nice butt, don't I, Sansa? I've seen you looking at it. I know you want to get your hands on me," he purred, trying to wink at her.

She decided to indulge him, taking a step closer and admitting: "You caught me!"

Suddenly her vision became blurry and her knees buckled. The last thing she heard was his panicked cry: "Sansa! Sansa, baby! What's wrong?"

***

_Five months later._

Jon hobbled on through the black-and-white streets of Wintertown, the snow flurrying down around him. For some reason he'd woken up in a hospital bed that morning, and though his joints felt a little stiff, he was quite sure he was not ill, so he had no business being in a hospital.

The world around him looked drab and dull. It hadn't always been like that, but he couldn't remember when or why it had changed. When he closed his eyes, he could still see colours: blue and pink and cream, and a rich rusty red that smelled like lemons and lavender.

He couldn't recall the exact significance of those colours and that scent, but he knew he had to get back home, where she'd be waiting for him, and everything would be fine.

Her name was on the tip of his tongue. He wet his lips, trying to remember. He kicked the lid off a trash bin, huffing in frustration. 

He crossed the street when he saw a florist shop, going in to buy a pot of jonquils. After another forty-five minutes, he'd finally found the house with the cherry tree.

He patted his pockets, looking for a key. When he realised he must have forgotten it, he knocked on the door, but no one came to answer it. How foolish of him! It was the middle of the day, she must still be at work.

He sat down on the bench under the cherry tree and decided to wait for her. It was colder than he'd realized. He rubbed his hands together, blowing hot air into them, wishing he had a warmer jacket.

He pushed himself to his feet, groaning at his protesting joints and started pacing the front garden. He didn't really keep track of time, but after a while he decided to get comfortable on the bench again.  _She won't be long now._

He could feel fatigue settling in his bones and his head slumping to his shoulder. He jerked up, suppressing a yawn.  _She won't be long now._

He felt so sleepy suddenly. He'd just close his eyes for a minute.

A delicate hand touched his shoulder. "Jon," she whispered. He blinked, shielding his eyes from the bright light that suddenly invaded them.

She was standing in front of him in a lovely blue sundress, long auburn hair framing her face in soft curls. "Sansa?" he asked, his voice rough.

She beamed at him. "Come."

He took the hand she was extending to him without hesitating.


	4. I Dream of You Amid the Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a short fling with a Dornish girl, Ned Stark meets his soulmate Catelyn.
> 
> They decide to get married and are happy to welcome their daughter Sansa into the world soon after.
> 
> Over a decade later he finds a boy on his doorstep with nothing but a suitcase and a letter identifying him as his son and no home to return to.
> 
> Little does Ned know that his daughter started seeing the world in colours the moment she laid eyes on her half-brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Daydream in Blue' by I Monster

Jon is twelve.

His mother grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the car. She looks nervous, lip twitching and hands shaking, the circles under her eyes darker than he's used to seeing them and her skin more sallow over her sharp cheekbones.

They've been driving for a couple of days, all the way up North. "I can't do this anymore," she muttered several times over the course of their trip. Jon was too frightened to ask what she meant.

At first he was excited that his mother was taking him with her. Before, she'd always disappeared for a couple of days without even telling him, coming home reeking of things Jon couldn't name, still wearing the same clothes she left in.

Mother can be sweet when she feels like it, but every time Jon thinks he's figured out what to do to make her cook for him or give him lunch money or help him with his homework, just when he allows himself to believe she's going to stay, she leaves him again. 

When he was little, he didn't want the other kids to know that he cried himself to sleep at night because he couldn't make his mommy love him, but he's a teenager now and men don't cry.

She startles him from his thoughts by shoving an envelope into his hands. "Give this to your father. Tell him you're his responsibility now."

He frowns at her in confusion. She's always told him he doesn't have a father. He glances at the suitcase she's put down next to him and then back at his mother, who's already back in the driver's seat of the car.

"Trust me, kid, you're better off without me," Ashara tells him before taking off without even looking back.

Jon stands there for a moment, staring at his shoes and then turns around to study the house behind him. It's the biggest house he's ever seen, with a nice front yard and a porch swing. Hesitantly he walks to the front door, reaching up to press the doorbell.

His eyes drop to his feet again, studying his frayed shoelaces. The door swings open and he looks up at the person standing in the doorway. It's a girl in a frilly dress, two pigtails hanging over her shoulders. He risks a glance at her face. She must be younger than he is, but she's taller than him.

Her lips are parted in surprise. "Can I help you?" she asks and something in her voice gives him the courage to look up.

He meets her eyes and suddenly the world becomes a brighter place, filled with colours he doesn't know how to name. She clasps a hand over her mouth, as she regards him with eyes large as saucers. For a while they keep staring at each other until she cries out:  "Daddy!"

 

 

 

_I loved a maid as green as spring_

_with flowers in her hair_

 

Jon wasn't sure why he'd decided to come home for spring break. His main motivation for moving away to go to college was to get away from her.

It had all started three years after the Starks had decided to take him. At thirteen, Sansa had become too well-developed for her own good. She'd always been a pretty girl, but instead of going through the awkward phases of puberty like most people, she'd gone straight to drop-dead-gorgeous.

At fifteen, hormones raging through his body, it had been enough to drive Jon out of his mind. Sansa'd had a habit of prancing around the house in miniscule shorts and skin-tight shirts. And as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd always seemed eager to hug him, pressing her braless breasts into his back or chest, or curling herself into his lap.

At sixteen he'd met Ygritte, who was twenty and drove a motorcycle and he'd jumped right into a relationship with the wild thing, trying to distract himself from his inappropriate attraction to his half-sister. He'd even lost his virginity to Ygritte, but it just wasn't meant to last.

At seventeen he'd counted the months until his graduation, so he could finally be free from the spell that was Sansa. 

Literally distancing himself from her had given him some semblance of a normal life, but he still missed her, feeling her abscence like a constant ache or hunger. 

It didn't matter how many times he let his dormmate Satin suck his cock, he still dreamed of her every night. It was not just sex though. He wanted her.  _Gods,_ how he wanted her, but she meant so much more to him.

He missed her voice and her smile and the way she'd glance up at him with those bright blue eyes. He missed her optimism and her unwavering faith in humanity. She never failed to find a solution to any problem, simply because she believed.

It made her strong and vulnerable at the same time. It made him want to hold her close, protecting her from the cruel world, protecting him from his own cynical heart.

Sansa believed they could be together, but Jon knew she was too smart and her future too bright for her to throw it all away for her half-brother.

After sitting in his car across the street from the Stark residence for fifteen minutes, he killed the engine and stepped out. His feet had hardly hit the ground, when the door swung open.

He quickly jogged to the other side of the road and found her standing in the doorway. Before he had a chance to look at her properly, she'd bounded over to him and jumped into his arms.

Relief and warmth washed over him, all tension leaving his body. It was as if he could breathe again for the first time in months. He held her close, breathing her in, relishing the feel of her in his arms.

She pulled back to nudge her nose against his, arms locked around his neck. She gazed into his eyes and he stared back, unable to look away.

He only regained his composure when he heard Bran and Rickon shouting his name. He let the boys lead him inside as they started talking his ear off. When they pulled him over the threshold, he couldn't help but turn one last time to let his eyes feast on the vision of Sansa in a grey sweater and black leggings.

***

Jon had decided to retreat to the tree house for the day. He and Ned had built it during his first summer here. It had taken a while for Jon to get used to being part of a family and the tree house had become his safe space.

He was lost in thought and the book he was reading, when he heard someone climbing up the ladder. He needn't look up to know that it was Sansa.

She tiptoed over to him and folded herself onto the floor, burrowing under his arm and nuzzling her face into his neck. "I've missed you," she murmured against his skin.

He closed his book and exhaled heavily through his nose. He put the book aside, still avoiding her face, only betrayed by the hand that had started stroking her arm as soon as she'd snuggled into his side.

He looked down to find her studying his face. The fingers of her left hand started playing with the hair that peeked out from under the neckline of his shirt as she gazed up at him with big innocent eyes. She'd tucked cherry blossoms into her fiery braid which hung bright against her bottle green dress. 

"I've missed you, too," he whispered roughly.

A radiant smile spread over her face and she let her head rest against his shoulder. "I've made a terrible mistake, Jon," she muttered.

His heart almost stopped. He gulped. "What happened, sweetling? Tell me." 

"I tried to follow your advice," she began. "Go out, meet other people. And I- I found myself a boyfriend."

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the monster that roared inside him as he imagined Sansa with another man. 

She buried her face in his neck, fisting her hand into the fabric of his shirt. "Harry seemed so nice and I was angry with you for leaving me. I let him.... take my virginity and-" her voice broke down into a sob.

His free hand came up to stroke her hair as his stomach churned at the idea alone. Gently he lifted her chin until he could meet her teary eyes. "Did- did he hurt you? I swear I'll kill him if he did," he murmured fiercely.

She shook her head. "No, not like that. He dumped me the day after," she whispered.

Jon clenched his jaw, his blood boiling with rage. "Fucking douchebag!" 

She averted her eyes. "I'm such an idiot." 

"Don't say that!" he objected, stroking her cheek. 

"I am," she whimpered. "It should have been you, Jon!"

He released her, turning away. "Sansa," he warned her. "Please, don't."

His rejection only seemed to make her more determined. She braced her hands on his shoulders to swing one leg over his so she could straddle his lap.

He looked down to avoid her eyes, nails digging into the wooden floor at the sight of her skirt riding up her milky thighs where they were spread open over his.

"Look at me and tell me you don't want me, Jon," she whispered.

Foolishly he glanced up at her face and gulped. "I can't," he rasped, even with the voices inside his head calling him a sick bastard.

She beamed at him, hands carding through the curls at the nape of his neck and started leaning in.

She slanted her mouth over his and lightly brushed her lips over his again and again, undeterred by his lack of his response.

His lips parted with a small gasp when she lightly nipped at them and she didn't waste the opportunity to slide her tongue into his mouth.

His hands flew to her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back hungrily. He groaned into her eager mouth. She tasted of candy shoe strings, which he'd normally find too sweet, but discovered he simply loved on Sansa's tongue.

When they parted, she let out a breathless giggle which shot straight to his already suffering cock.

This wasn't the first time they'd kissed, but he knew it needed to be the last.

"I'll be eighteen in a couple of months. We could run away together to a place where nobody's ever heard of Jon Dayne or Sansa Stark," she panted into his ear.

"Sansa, we can't," he sighed, struggling to keep his voice devoid of emotion. "I can't give you the future you deserve."

She pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I don't care. As long as I have you."

"What about our family, Sansa?"

She considered his question for a minute. "I'll miss them, too. But we could leave them a letter, to explain. Mom and Dad know what it's like. They'd understand."

Jon didn't want to imagine the looks on Ned and Cat's faces if they ever found out the truth. He owed everything to them. "No, San, we couldn't do that to them." 

She pushed herself off him, turning her back to him. She threw him a scowl before she started descending the ladder. "You're just a coward, Jon!"

***

When Jon woke up in the middle of the night, he found her lying next to him, snuggled into his side under the covers.

Mind still drunk with sleep, he pulled her closer and she draped a leg over his hips, pressing her hot core against his groin.

It shouldn't surprise him that Sansa mewling his name after he'd kissed her into oblivion was enough to finally push him over the edge.

She swallowed his objections that he didn't have a condom with a kiss and a comment that she was on the pill. "And I trust you, Jon," she murmured against his lips.

When he finally slid inside her, he shouldn't be as overwhelmed as he was that she felt like heaven and home all wrapped up into one.

After, when she was lying in his arms, back pressed flush against his chest, after they'd entrusted the truth and depth of their love to each other's lips and hearts and skin with and without words alike, he couldn't help but wonder:  _If this is wrong, then why does it feel so right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing! I really enjoyed writing this one.
> 
> I might be persuaded to write more about one of the lives from this story. If you have a preference for one of them, let me know in the comments!


End file.
